of Rainer Maria Rilke's "The Drunkard's Song"
It wasn't in me. It went out and in.
I wanted to hold it. It held, with Wine.
(I no longer know what it was.)
Then Wine held this and held that for me
till I came to depend on him totally.
Like an ass.
Now I'm playing his game and he deals me out
with a sneer on his lips, and maybe tonight
he will lose me to Death, that boor.
When he wins me, filthiest card in the deck,
he'll take me and scratch the scabs on his neck,
then toss me into the mire.
My Improv':
The Graduate Student's Song
A scholarship boy, I am a file cabinet
of academic discourse, a mimetic
pilfiler of ideas. Early mornings I gargle
coffee grounds, drown in its brew.
Most nights I am prone or known to drink
red wine during seminars. This helps me discuss
literary theories without always thinking
about God and people that suffer in his name.
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